Latest update November 26th, 2024 1:00 AM
Signs of the times
Where can a regular citizen go confidently anymore? Where, among the ordinary places in life, can a citizen venture without fear? When can the guard be relaxed? More and more, it seems like nowhere or at any time anymore.
If this adds up to no place and no time, then that means no life, no kind of living. This country may not be too far from such a reality. As the influx of foreigners-a continuing deluge wending their way to dazzling Guyana-they already contemplate traveling with their own (foreign) security content; meaning their own security apparatus and arrangements. Things are that bad, that dangerous, that disturbing. Just ask besieged Guyanese.
As a first example, someone does something as distressing as going to take care of their health at a medical facility, and there could be an infusion. That is, an infusion of other citizens pretending at being patients, too. The pretenders are waiting to pounce on some hapless, but genuine, seeker of medical attention. They lurk and ambush from right within the waiting room. At gunpoint, as was reported. Thus, trauma is added to whatever travails took to that place. It was in Charlestown and at a government-run institution.
To put this in some perspective, the sick and suffering, who frequent a facility, like Charlestown, are not patronising one of the expensive private hospitals. Meaning that they (almost all of them) would not be expected to have any kind of money on their persons. It is hard to picture these long-suffering crowds with gold chains that weigh down, like anchors on a medium-sized ship. Therefore, not much could be expected to be available for the robbing. But this still happened. Statistically, it is an outlier, but it did happen; and now an element of fear has been cultivated. This is at a medical institution for the needy. Where is off-limits? Is there such a consideration anymore?
Then there are the multitudes, who undergo the rigors of daily minibus travel, better be on high alert for the predators seeking to convey the impression that they are normal commuters. There is a problem: there is no such thing as normal in this country. At the risk of stretching circumstances a bit, the abnormal is the new norm. Those who disbelieve should consult with the many minibus travelers, who must ply the round-trip daily. The companion behind, or in front, or embarking, or disembarking, has more than a destination in mind. He has gun or knife or implement and bides his time to strike; that is what swirls in the minds of the criminals that prey. This is in the public transportation system and the tight confines of a bus, with others looking on and tensing. Who is vulnerable? Who is next? This is a terrible way to travel, a worse way to live. It is the second example of how nerve-wracking the simple, routine things in life in Guyana are now thickly coated with menace. Next, there are, at last count, six commercial banks in this society. The focus is on those in the capital alone. The following familiar sequence of events occurs during a visit to execute a transaction. Enter, take a seat to wait turn, or line up to deposit or uplift cash. The last activity could lead to mortal peril, as has been the case. But one does not have to collect cash; just visit the bank introduces an unshakable ingredient of psychological terror. Who, on the inside, is watching? Who, from somewhere inside a bank, is transmitting? Who is waiting on the outside to lay way, even lay to rest? This is how barbaric and heinous this society has become.
A clinic, a crowded bus, a busy bank-the places for issues of everyday living-and it could be a weapon in the face, and pain in the heart or worse. Crime is down; maybe it is. Regardless, it is taking us down with it, and in the most jarring, frightening ways.
If a president in a prestigious place among (perhaps) reputable men has no standing, then who could? Who stands a ghost of a chance? Truth be told, that is what is made of all of us: ghosts. Ghosts fearful to travel in daylight. Ghosts skulking behind the thickness of night and barricades. These are the signs of the times; harrowing ones, they are.
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